The Many Meetings of James and John
by Hunter Watson
Summary: James and John were pen pals, and grew to be the greatest of friends. They met unexpectedly many times. One-shot. K for mild cursing.


**The Many Meetings of James and John**

From:

To:

Subject: Pen pals

Hello John.

As we're pen pals now, we may as well start on introductions. My name, as you may know, is James. I live in Scotland, in a manor called Skyfall. It's the ancestral home of my family, and it's cold, lonely and looming. The coolest part of it is the secret passage into the moor. I don't like it. I think I shall move away as soon as I can. I live with my groundsman, as my parents died in a climbing accident when I was six.

When I am older, I'm going to see the world, what about you? Although my aunt would have me get a job in the government. She's a lovely woman, but she's got very fixed ideas.

Please send me an email back, I'm getting rather keen on the idea.

James Bond, 18

From:

To:

Subject: RE: Pen pals

Hi James.

Wow! You house sounds so different to mine! But also lonely. Mine's tiny, a little flat where I live with my sister Harry (short for Harriet) and my mum. Harry's older than me by a four years, and she's nearly always out with her girlfriend Clara. The passage sounds

awesome.

Seeing the world would be good, yeah. I'm going to study medicine next year at uni, but it's going to be funded by the army. I'll be Private John H Watson, MD. I may have to go to Afghanistan! It's weird.

Pen pals are cool, and you seem nice. Maybe we could meet up?

John Watson, 18

The boys got on excellently. But when John was called away to fight, they thought that'd be it. Six months after James said goodbye to his best friend, he was called upon in his new job...

James took a deep breath, and knocked. An imperious voice called out "Come in!" He opened the door and stood in front of the desk.

"Ma'am." M looked up.

"Bond. Take a seat." James sat. "You have been assigned a mission. It's important, so don't cock it up. There is something that must be retrieved from Afghanistan." The agent then went on to detail the mission. What caught his interest was the squadron he would be working with. One name stood out. One Captain John H Watson, MD.

John ran his hand through his hair. Bloody hell, he thought, the onslaught was bad. Him and his team were sheltering behind a wall, trapped due to the artillery on the other side. At least his team was ok. There was a large building behind them, the traditional flat roof probably baking in the sun. He could see the heat shimmering. In fact, it obstructed anything on the roof. He frowned. A sense of foreboding ran through him.

"Ok people lets move now! NOW! He got everyone up and moving, running bent double along the wall. From this angle, he could see it would be where he'd put snipers and the dark haze that signalled one. "RUN!"

He knew the bullet would hit him as soon as it fired. It was one of those things you just knew. Everything slowed down. The bullet, heading straight at his chest, his men, safe but turning back. Andy was screaming, probably his name. It was all oddly silent. Then there were hands on his upper arm, despite the fact all his people were ahead of him. Then everything went real time and fire and pain erupted in his shoulder, he could hear Andy, and a gunshot. He turned his head to his rescuer, who was holding out a gun and had clearly just shot the sniper.

"Dammit, James, your rescuing's rubbish!"

At his voice, his friend's head turned and the gun hand dropped. "John, are you alright?"

"My shoulder hurts."

James rolled his eyes, picking up John and slinging him over a shoulder and running low towards the squad. They were sheltered, and there was a soldier to pick off approaching enemies. The agent laid him down. Andy instantly started work on his shoulder and James squatted on his heels, gazing at the man he'd known since he was 18. How things had changed. He was a secret agent, fast approaching promotion and with any luck double o status, instead of travelling the world. And John was a captain and a doctor, lying in a desert with blood staining his jacket. James had saved him though. He would be ok.

James didn't see much of him after that. Missions to go on, as 007, Britain's finest secret agent. John went home to England. He seemed inexplicably sad when James visited him in hospital in London, but wiped it away, grinning and joking around for his friend.

James focussed. He used the digger to slam stuff around, a childish glee building up inside him that he would never tell anyone about and only John would see. A gun fired, and a bullet smashed the windscreen. There wouldn't be time to dodge. At the same second, the side window smashed and boots slammed into his arm. The bullet hit his shoulder, but he was more interested in the owner of the boots than the pain. Because there, sitting in the space where the window was, was John Watson, military handgun pointed at the oppositon. Gone was the slightly lost look of the London hospital, replaced by a fierce determination and simple joy at being alive.

"Here, your rescuing's not that much better than mine."

John shrugged. "Nah, you were with my platoon. I just followed the commotion because I thought I got a glimpse of you on a motorbike. Nice one too, but it's probably not yours. Now you can put pressure on the wound, or-" James grabbed the controls. "or you can just do what you usually do and ignore useful advice."

"Wont you pressure it for me?"

"Nope." He fired a few shots, and there was a cry. "This is much more fun."

However, they were not to stay in contact for long. They had to move, and James was to run up the train. John watched the jeep get closer, ready to jump. He leapt onto the hot surface and swung into the passenger seat.

"Morning, I'm John. Friend of his." he said, shutting the door.

"Nice to meet you. Agent Moneypenny. Thanks for saving 007."

"He's a double o? Never told me." John whistled.

"And if you're John Watson, you never told him you were a captain. Complained for weeks, I'm told."

John shrugged. "Fair enough."

They watched him fall, and John's heart, which was slowly repairing due to Sherlock running around the city looking for him, shattered.

A few months later.

The man stepped off the train, and settled on one of the benches. His collar was turned up to hide his face, his chin covered in thick stubble. His hands were thrust in his pockets, and he seemed ready to wait as long as it took. It only took ten minutes. Another man got off a different train, his ash-blonde hair still in a military cut. The first man stood, raising a black gloved hand to show his presence. The second man started, then walked over.

"James?"

"John."

"I've missed you."

"You too."

"Have you seen the world?"

"Oh yes. And I still have Skyfall, with it's secret passageways."

There was a silence. "Oh, come here." James and John embraced. "Come for drinks sometime. Meet Sherlock, my flatmate."

"Who, Sherlock Holmes? Funny hat?"

"He calls it a death frisbee. God knows why."

"I will. Someone to meet first."

James started to walk away. "James?" He turned back. "Don't get killed, old friend."

"Old friend, you know I'd never want to do anything to make you sad. So don't do it to me. We can't save each other forever."


End file.
